


At her mercy

by DracoIgnis, Dragon_and_Direwolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boot Worship, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Light Dom/sub, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex, Shoe Kink, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf
Summary: Daenerys wants to take control in the bedroom and a new pair of leather boots may give her the confidence she needs. But for how long can Jon play by the rules before taking charge?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 23
Kudos: 315





	At her mercy

“Someone’s been a bad boy.”

Jon smells her before he sees her; fresh leather, fresh perfume. She poses in the doorway. The boots reach her knees. The lace body reveals her shape: broad hips, narrow waist, heavy breasts. He surveys her every curve before looking her in the eyes. Her lashes are black. Her lips are red. When she smirks, the lipstick glimmers wetly on her front-teeth. It’s enticing. It’s teasing.

Jon has a drag of his cigarette. “What did I do?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Are those new?”

“Come and feel them.” Daenerys pushes her right leg forward, presenting the leather. It glows in the orange light from the lamp. The living room is unfinished, and unfurnished. Jon is crouched on the floor, flipping through books and work reports. At her offer, he pushes it all aside and makes a move to get up. But Daenerys stops him: “Ah-hah,” she says, waving a finger in the air, her smile growing, “you know how to _crawl,_ don’t you?”

Jon has another drag of his cigarette. _So that’s the mood she’s in,_ he thinks, exhaling the smoke in a slow, warm breath. Yesterday, she was submissive - naked on the kitchen table, spread out for eating and taking. He tied her down and fucked her three times before letting her have an orgasm. She licked the cum off his fingers. There’ll be none of that tonight, he gathers as he rolls onto his knees, bites down around the filter, and starts crawling his way across the room. _Tonight, I’m in for a different kind of treat._

The boots look new. Jon reaches out and lets his fingertips dance alongside the back-zipper. The toes are pointed. The heels are tall. If he were to stand, he thinks they would be the same height.

“Don’t worry about that,” Daenerys says as if reading his mind, “I prefer you on your knees.”

Jon rolls the cigarette between his lips as he looks from one boot to the next. As Daenerys lifts her foot off the ground, he grabs a hold of her heel and inspects the sole. There’s a flicker of dust on it. He wipes it off with his thumb as he glances up at her. “And what would I do down here?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” Daenerys humms, pondering. She cocks her head. Her silver curls slipper over her shoulder and settle in her cleavage. It looks deep, and inviting. Jon imagines pushing his nose in there and giving her a good lick. “Mhmm,” she says again, cocking her head to the other side. Her lips are pursed. She’s struggling, he can tell, so he helps:

“Maybe a kiss?” and Daenerys pushes her boot closer to his face as she says:

“Please.” She looks relieved. She looks intrigued. She’s not used to being in control, Jon knows, but she’s _trying._ It’s adorable. It’s sexy.

Jon pulls out his smoke. He leans in. He presses a wet kiss to the tip of her boot. He can taste it in the air - raw, and clean. There’s not even a crease in the leather. Without breaking eye-contact, he flickers out his tongue and runs it alongside the sole.

Daenerys takes in a shivering breath. Her nails close at the doorframe. They’re black, and sharp. Jon can’t wait to feel them in his hair. “Good boy,” she says.

“I thought I was a bad one,” Jon teases.

Daenerys flushes. “Just - lick the left one,” she instructs, putting her heel down with a snap before lifting her other foot off the floor.

Jon smirks: “Yes, Ma’am,” and he dutifully leans in and gives her other shoe a long, wet lick. The taste of smooth wood settles across his tongue. As Daenerys watches him intensely, he wraps his tongue around the small rubber off her heel and gives it a suck. It’s sharp in his mouth. He likes it. “You’re already very clean.”

“Not clean enough,” Daenerys breathes. She’s settling into the role; she’s straightening up, her shadow falling in over his kneeling body, and she reaches down and snatches the smoke out of his hand. She has a drag. Ashes flicker through the air. They warmly peck his cheeks as she taps them off mindlessly. “Give them a good clean. Make them _shine.”_

“This kind of leather won’t shine,” Jon says, his palm brushing up alongside her leg as he feels the length of her boot. “Not the way it’s been treated.”

“It won’t shine,” Daenerys says and leans forward, smoke blowing across Jon’s face as she speaks, “if you don’t put your mouth to work, _boy.”_

Jon stares up at her. She stares back. For a moment, the tension seems to grow, and Daenerys’ lashes flutter slightly as hesitation settles in her eyes. _Did she go too far?_ He lets her stew for a second longer. Then, he speaks: “Yes, Ma’am,” and he leans in, opens his mouth, and goes to work.

The scent of leather is strong. The smell of smoke is heavy. As Jon licks and kisses and pecks his way up the shoes, Daenerys smokes and watches him. He can taste her; a flicker of perfume gone astray on her heel, a streak of dust that covers his tongue, the cold sensation of the zipper as he drags his cheek alongside the inner of her leg, his neck stretched to reach. He thinks he should feel humiliated. He is hard instead; his cock is growing in his tight jeans, and his fingers drag across the wooden floor impatiently. His body craves to please, and to be pleased.

But Daenerys is in no hurry. She smokes. She watches. She taps off ashes. By the time Jon reaches the bare skin of her thighs, she says: “How do you like my outfit?”

Jon glances up. He peers at the way the fabric sits tight across her cunt, her pink labia barely contained, and the way her sides softly curve under the tight elastic of the body, and the way the lace nestles across her chest, her pink, stiff nipples just visible. “You look gorgeous,” he says, his voice deep and dark.

Daenerys blushes. She gestures for him to lean back. As he rolls his head up, his curls falling down his nape, she leans in, blows smoke into his mouth, and whispers: “Would you like to fuck me?”

Jon’s cock throbs. He breathes in the scent, fills his lungs with her smoke, and nods. _“Yes.”_

“Do you get to decide that?”

Jon bites down on his tongue. He feels like smiling. If he wanted to, he could flip her over and take her right there on the floor, use her body and reduce her to a moaning, wriggling mess. It would be easy. _But I don’t want it to be easy._ He replies: “No,” and Daenerys chuckles and runs her nails through his hair. They drag across his scalp. Her fingers close around his curls. She shakes his head as she says:

“No, you don’t.” She lets go, and Jon gasps as the dull pain subsides. But relief is short-lived; Daenerys lifts her foot, pushes her boot to his chest, and forces him onto his back with the sharp end of her heel.

Jon is still on his knees. He rolls backwards, slowly, his hands grabbling to support his weight on the way down. Only once he falls back onto his shoulders do his legs slipper out. His bulge is visible, and painful. He feels himself throb in the constraint of his jeans. He longs to be free - but a flicker of his hand moving toward his groin makes Daenerys kick it aside.

“Ah-hah,” she warns again with a wag of her finger, “you get to come once _I’m_ satisfied.” She walks across him. Her heels click against the wooden floor. She positions herself, a foot on either side of his face, and looks down at him as she smokes.

Jon peers up. Her face is partially in shadow. From this angle, her thick thighs look strong, and her behind looks heavy, and the expression on her face is excited. _She’s getting into it,_ he thinks, his heartbeat picking up at the realisation, _she’s getting into ordering me around._

Daenerys smirks. She bites down around the filter. Her hands start wandering - across her chest, down her stomach, between her legs. Her nails pull the strap of her pants aside. Her cunt - pink and wet - is revealed. The scent of sex seems to waft down across of Jon’s face and make his nostrils widen.

“Fuck,” he whispers as his Adam’s apple jumps. He’s seen her cunt before - _of course_ he has. He once held her down and licked her until she couldn’t come any more, his face sticky with her orgasms. But he’s never been like this: on his back, staring up at her, as her fingers start playing with herself.

At first, Daenerys’ movements are slow and teasing. Her fingertips drag at her clit. They slipper down between the wetness of her labia. She uses her juices to slicken herself, easing her movements as she rubs her sex above Jon’s face.

He can taste her in the air. He can taste her in drops on his lips - pecks of her juices as she drips down onto him, her cunt wettening from her own touch. Not once does she break eye-contact with him. Not once does she stop smoking. He feels like a spectator

\- until he isn’t. She lifts her boot. She drags her sole down across his lips. Then down his chest. Then down his groin. She pauses. She applies pressure.

Jon gasps: _“Fuck.”_ It hurts. It feels good. As Daenerys’ boot starts circling his throbbing cock, his hands close to fists at his sides. _“Fuck.”_

“Language,” Daenerys teases. She stops as abruptly as she started - her boot smacks back down next to his face, making his curls flutter in the air, and he finds himself groaning and wriggling, missing the pressure from her. Her hand is still at her cunt. As she stares down at his reddened face, she bites her lower lip and sinks a finger inside of herself with a gasp. “Shouldn’t you _apologise?”_

“Sorry,” Jon croaks. His voice is hoarse. His cock is pressing against the zipper of his jeans.

Daenerys smacks her lips. “That’s not good enough,” she says. Smoke surrounds her face in a mist.

Jon wriggles and whispers: “Sorry, _Ma’am.”_ He’s bewildered. He can’t think when Daenerys last commanded him like this. Perhaps it was the year before, when she sneaked a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists before bedtime and presented him with a cockring. _This will keep you going,_ she promised at the time. Neither of them had expected it to last past midnight - but it did. Sore and red the next morning, Jon called in sick to work and remained in bed. But he was still throbbing hard by lunchtime and jerking off.

_Jerking off._ The thought alone makes Jon gasp, and his hands spread at his sides. “Please,” he says before he can stop himself, and he sends her a desperate look. _“Please.”_

But Daenerys just smirks. She has a last drag of the smoke. As the cigarette becomes ashes in her hand, she flings it aside, steps down the sides of Jon’s body, and then starts lowering herself. He sees her coming closer; the shadow around his face grows, and the sight of her warm, wet cunt settles just before his eyes. He can smell her. He can taste her.

He can feel her: as Daenerys kneels around his head and presses her labia across his lips, he is surrounded in the feel of her. His tongue dips into her sex. His nose is embedded in the wet fabric of her pants. As his airways are closed off, all he can do is lick and kiss and peck his way across Daenerys’ wet sex, hoping she will rock herself free and allow him a chance to breathe. _If I please._

As Jon starts eating her out, Daenerys moans and digs her hands into his curls. She wraps his locks tightly around her fingers as she guides him, craning his neck and rubbing his face to her slick folds until she’s so wet that her juices and his spit become one. He’s like a toy between her hands - a red, gasping, wriggling toy that’s eager to please and willing to be led. She knows it. He knows it - and the moment a gurgled moan is suppressed to her cunt, she takes it as a sign to start rocking him into her wet heat, rubbing herself off with his face.

Jon can’t breathe. He can’t see. He feels himself pressed into Daenerys’ cunt with the sheer force of her hands, and he finds himself held in place by the strength of her thighs. They sit warmly and clammy around his face. When he gasps for air, all he gets are her juices filling his mouth. The taste of leather is long gone. Now, he can only sense her sex on his tongue, and taste the metallic sweetness of her inners as Daenerys fucks herself onto his tongue. It’s hard. It’s needy. It’s greedy.

And then it’s over.

By the time Daenerys pushes his head back onto the floor, Jon is gasping for air. Strings of spit and juices hang between his puffy lips and her cunt. They snap wetly as she lifts herself off of his face, her fingers still embedded in his hair, her violet eyes watching him with fascination. Her cheeks are pink. Her lips are parted in a heavy breath. It’s so parched that Jon almost can’t tell where his own ends and her gasps for air begins. But he does know that she asks:

“Would you rim me?” Her voice is just audible over the buzzing in his ears.

Jon closes his eyes. His lashes are sticky from her cunt. He bashes her juices down his cheeks as he coughs: “Are you asking me?”

“Yes?” Daenerys’ voice is tense, it is excited.

Jon smiles. He licks her off his lips. _She’s cute,_ he thinks, _she’s shy._ “Are you asking me,” he repeats, his cock throbbing painfully between his legs as he peers up at her, “or _telling me?”_

Daenerys takes in a sharp breath through her nose. He can see it on her face: _realisation._ She doesn’t have to _ask_ for anything. Not now - now, she gets to set the rules, and when she says: “Rim me,” it’s a command.

Jon reaches up and grabs a hold of Daenerys’ fleshy hips. As she settles across his face, he guides her, leads her buttocks apart, lets her asshole hover his wet lips. She’s careful not to press her weight onto him, he can tell, but the moment his wet tongue runs in between her buttocks and flicker across her asshole, she forgets all about kindness.

Daenerys moans - and she slips down to seat herself across his face as he starts to rim her.

Daenerys tastes of soap and sweat and cunt. Her juices have run all the way to her ass, and he can taste her sex in the tight ring of her muscles. As he nuzzles his nose further into her soft skin and stretches his tongue, Daenerys rocks down onto him, her legs closing more tightly around him, trapping him in her heat.

“There,” she whispers, tugging at his hair, and Jon rolls his tongue around her asshole, teasing its edges, before pushing the tip inside of her. It makes her moan and tighten her grip. _“Yes, there!”_ Her voice is breathless. Her hands are strong, and Jon lets her fuck his mouth once more as he starts licking and kissing his way into her ass, softening her muscles with his spit.

Jon is rock hard. He’s not sure if it’s from the taste of her, or the situation. He’s not used to being taken, sprawled out on the floor, his sore tongue doing all the work that his cock could. _But,_ he thinks, listening to the moans from his wife and the creak of the leather boots brushing his skin and the itchy scratch of her nails in his hair, _I could get used to it._

Daenerys is soon rocking back and forth across his face, letting him taste her cunt, then her ass, until he’s slick with her juices and his drool. His nose is hurting. His lungs are begging for a proper gulp of air. By the time she scoots down his body, climbing across his chest, he’s so far gone into the feeling of dizziness that he barely notices what’s going on. His ears ring. His eyes are hurting. When he blinks, he sees stars. When he breathes, he tastes her.

And when he looks down, he sees her:

Daenerys, her fingers wrapped around his cock, her body hovering him, her face flushed and impatient as she leads him to her cunt. He feels her; her wetness around his cockhead, like a sloppy kiss, and then around the whole of his length, his member engulfed in her tight, warm heat. It happens with a single rock from her hips. As Jon’s cock penetrates her, all she can do is loll her head back in a desperate moan.

And all Jon can do is sink his eyes shut and let the feeling of pleasure roll in over him.

Daenerys is greedy, and she’s needy. Her fingers dig in around his shirt as she starts fucking herself down onto the thick, hard girth of his cock. Her lips are parted in a low, whiny moan. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement. As Jon’s length strokes across her clit with every rock, she gasps: “Shit, I’m _so wet.”_

She doesn’t have to say it - Jon can hear it. Every time she sinks onto him, a soppy noise echoes in the living room. There’s the clash of skin. Her buttocks bump to his balls. Her cunt stretches and drags around his member, wet and slick with pre-cum. He can’t even make a move to stop himself - he just feels as his hands drag up across her boots, over her legs, onto her waist. Soon, he’s sitting.

Soon, Jon is controlling her, dragging her body on and off his cock as he takes control of the fuck. At the first hard move of his hands, Daenerys weakly protests:

_“Bad boy!”_ but she soon swings her arms around his neck and moans to his ear as he takes her deeply, again and again, making her body accommodate him.

Then, she’s on her back, and he’s atop, his strong frame hovering her. His hands brush across her sides, pinching her skin until she’s blushing pink, and onto her breasts, freeing them from the constraint of the lace until her nipples stand stiff in the air, and onto her neck, holding her, applying pressure until her cheeks turn red.

_“Fuck, yes!”_ she groans, her voice growing weak as her need to come grows. He takes her harder. He slams her body onto the floor. The wood creaks below them, and her legs lock at his hips, the sound of the leather boots groaning and groaning and groaning with every push. _“Fuck yes!”_

Jon’s hands slip from her neck to her hair. He stares down at her as he takes her - teeth gritted, face red and glistening from her cunt, heart throbbing in his throat from sheer excitement. She’s wriggling and whining beneath him, her body submitting to his rough fuck, and as he reaches between their sweaty bodies and flicks her clit, it’s about all she can take.

With Jon’s fingertips pressed firmly to her nub, Daenerys orgasms. Jon is still deep inside of her, and he feels her tighten around him, her muscles locking and her eyes rolling back as she gives in to the sensation of pleasure. He tastes it - on her lips in her moans, and the goosebumps on her neck, and the desperate dragging of her nails down his back.

And he feels it himself - he pushes into her one last time before his body gives it. It happens quickly, before he can even stop himself or think to pull out. He comes, deeply embedded inside of her tight heat, and as he collapses down atop her, he fills her with his cum. Once, twice, three times, his hips rock forward and nestles him deeper inside of her. He is strong. She is weak - she can just gasp and cling onto him as he fills her with his seed.

The aftermath is sticky and sweaty. Jon grows soft inside of her, his body holding her down as he breathes, and Daenerys pecks and licks the taste of herself off his lips, her movements lazy and loving. “You’re heavy,” she finally breathes after a minute of quiet, and Jon reluctantly slumps down next to her, though he still doesn’t pull out.

They lie, close, kissing and hugging as their bodies cool and their heartbeats return to normal. Only then does Daenerys playfully slap his cheek.

“What’s that for?” Jon grunts.

“I was meant to _dominate,”_ Daenerys reminds him and gives him another slap. “When did you forget?”

“When you started moaning.”

“That’s a bad excuse.”

“Mhmm, but it’s true.”

Daenerys purses her lips as she watches him. Her hands stroke into his hair, gently rolling his curls between her fingertips. “Do I have to tie you down to get anywhere?” she asks.

“You can try,” Jon teases, and his hand brushes down across the top of her leather boots. “Though wearing these certainly helps.”

“You like them?” Daenerys peers down at her boots with a look of pride on her face. “I got them _on sale._ They were only-”

“Considering we’ve still not got any furniture for the flat,” Jon interrupts, glancing around the empty living room, “are you sure you want to finish that sentence?”

Daenerys bites her lower lip. She shakes her head. “But it was a bargain,” she says as he nestles back into her chest, burying his nose in her cleavage.

“I’m sure it was.”

As Jon smells Daenerys - her sweat, her perfume, her leather, her juices - he rubs her boots and thinks to himself: _who needs anything else when you have a girl like her?_ Though he knows better than to say it out loud - after all, a sofa would be nice. One day.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not love leather boots. No comment!
> 
> Thanks for reading! It was nice doing a little more of a dominant Dany - I really need to give her a proper chance at roughening Jon up one of these days! I do think this reflects a bit more of "realism"; a lot of couples play with the dom/sub roles these days but may not always know what their partner wants, so some gentle guidance can be needed. That's part of love - and I hope it came across!
> 
> Two more days... I just need to get work finished and start writing!


End file.
